Attente Tourmente
by Silverspoon
Summary: Back at the helm of New Orleans, there is little that Klaus thinks can go awry. That is, until the Harvest ceremony fails, the resurrection fails, and Sophie Devereaux fails. With a mentally unstable witch wandering the French quarter, a protege who appears to be contemplating vengeance, and a pack of cursed werewolves sniffing round the bayou, Klaus is soon proved wrong.
1. Chapter 1

_**Part One – 'The Heart Has Its Reasons'**_

_**Authors – WelshWitch1011 & Silverspoon**_

_**Rating – K+**_

_**Disclaimer – We own nothing. Not Klaus' abs, Elijah's winning smile, or Rebekah's killer wardrobe. Oh… we don't own the characters, either. Just tea. We own plenty of tea. **_

_**Authors' Note – This story takes place following the events of 'Après Moi, Le Déluge', (contains some spoilers). It is co-written by me, (Silverspoon), and my sister, (WelshWitch1011). We are new to The Originals fandom, but have been writing fics for other fandoms for several years now. Please check out our solo and joint projects via our profiles. **_

_**There are but three rules;**_

_**No Hayley bashing.**_

_**If you're going to flame us, please do so using correct grammar and spelling.**_

_**Enjoy, and remember… always and forever, reviews above all. **_

_**Chapter One**_

Blood.

Acrid and crimson, sticky and free flowing, was all that she saw when she dared to close her eyes. The irony was not lost on her; after all, to every semi-warm body she shared the sprawling compound with, blood was a life source- something to be savoured and revered. It was the substance licked from murderous fingers, and that which coated normally gleaming white fangs. It was delicious, forbidden, and tantalising.

To Hayley Marshall, it was an uncomfortable reminder of her vulnerability, and the fact that her current predicament had her constantly teetering on the precipice of becoming somebody's main course.

"I guess that'd make you the entrée, huh?" Hayley murmured quietly, an easy smile gracing her lips as she smoothed her hand over her rounded stomach.

All was quiet beneath the surface of her belly, a sure sign that her unborn daughter was taking the initiative that her mother was not, and sleeping. As exhausted as the day had rendered her, Hayley could not sleep. She had tossed and turned for hours since retiring to her room, but the image of Davina, looking frighteningly young and resigned as Sophie Devereaux drew the blade across her throat, would not leave her mind. Again and again she watched the girl fall, a slow backwards descent into Marcel's arms that still appeared almost graceful to her memory. Again and again she fought away the image, struggling to bury it deep enough so that it could not bother her anymore. She was failing miserably.

The thin, gauzy drapes billowed in the cool evening air, and Hayley found herself momentarily mesmerised by their motion. The room looked as if it had been untouched for centuries, and it was only the cell phone lying on the nightstand beside her that gave any hint that it was indeed the twenty-first century.

Reaching out to swipe up the phone, Hayley squinted at the screen and groaned in frustration as the display informed her that sunrise was little more than a couple of hours away.

Laying herself forcibly back against the pillows, she let out a slow, relaxing breath, her hands flat against the mattress at her side as she tried to ease her uncooperative body to sleep.

"What the hell is that?" she muttered, leaning up on her elbow as suddenly the sound of music caught her attention.

The strains of an old jazz standard drifted down the hallway and seeped underneath her closed door.

Motivated by equal parts curiosity and irritation, Hayley swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded toward the door.

The music was more clearly discernible as she crept down the hall. Both Elijah and Rebekah's doors were closed, leaving Klaus as the only likely suspect. Yet when Hayley reached his bedroom, she found the door was ajar, and the interior still held in darkness. The werewolf frowned at his absence, the place between her forehead and the bridge of her nose crinkling with the action. Clearly another of Klaus' diabolic plans was afoot somewhere in the quarter. Hayley could barely keep up with his Machiavellian whims from one day to the next, but that didn't stop her trying. Pushing herself away from the wall, Hayley continued on through the darkness.

The room at the far end of the corridor seemed to be the source of the noise, yet as far as she knew, the bedroom was currently unoccupied.

The sight that greeted her as she pushed the door open stole her breath away, and with wide-eyed wonderment, Hayley stared at the contents of the room in stunned silence.

"Having trouble sleeping, little wolf?" Klaus enquired, pausing, paintbrush in hand.

The young woman's mouth dropped open, and she found herself, for once, incapable of speech.

Klaus reached for a rag from the top of a nearby ladder and wiped the paint from his hands as he waited for her to regain her senses. A smug smile crept over his face as he stood back and admired his own handy work. Each wall was covered in the most intricate and detailed mural that Hayley had ever seen; castles and horses, princesses and princes, mountains and forests filled with wild flowers that all somehow seemed to reflect a slightly different hue. The clouds that Klaus had painted in the sky were so realistic that Hayley was half convinced that, should she reach out to touch them, she would find them fluffy and soft beneath her fingertips.

"You did all of this?" Hayley breathed, smiling as she stepped closer to the walls and examined the beautiful mural further. The stench of paint was strong and Hayley's nostrils twitched in protest, but she was firmly rooted to the spot.

Klaus bowed his head and smiled, "Only the very best for my daughter."

"But this must have taken you..." Hayley began in wonderment.

"Weeks? Yes. But I find I enjoy the solitude and quiet contemplation it allows. I'm glad you approve."

The wolf opened her mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again when words failed her. Generally, she found Klaus difficult to talk to, and his mood near impossible to gauge. The slightest misconstrued word was capable of plunging him into a black hole of rage that Hayley had never witnessed the likes of before. Growing up, even before her wolf gene had been activated, Hayley had always thought her own temper one to be rivalled, but meeting Klaus had brought the concept of a tantrum to whole new levels. However, even despite this, Hayley could not bring herself to be afraid of the arrogant and wholly self-assured Original; he was far too intriguing for her to allow fear to limit her.

"It's gorgeous," she finally settled upon the words, speaking them earnestly as she stared at Klaus. He nodded, having never needed the affirmation to recognise his own skill, but enjoying it anyway. It was no secret that Klaus both liked to be liked and needed to be needed, and recently the little wolf had been doing a splendid job of ensuring he could achieve both those goals.

"Is there something you need? I can have the maid…" Klaus began, turning back to his painting as he picked up his brush from where he had discarded it on a paint palette.

"No… thank you…" Hayley interjected, shaking her head and pushing her thick curls behind her ears. She faltered for a moment, still uncomfortable under the red hot scrutiny of Klaus' gaze, before she admitted, "I can't… I guess what happened with Davina tonight bothered me more than I thought."

Klaus considered her words for a moment and then took a tentative step toward her. He extended a hand in her direction, his uncertainty only matched by her surprise. His hand landed gently on the top of her arm and he seemed to ignore the bemused expression that settled immediately on her features.

"The witches will be dealt with. No harm will come to you or the child. You have my word."

Hayley watched him intently, striving to see the telling crack in his façade, yet she found none and instead believed the sincerity of his vow.

"I believe you," she breathed, peering up at him curiously. Klaus removed his hand from her arm and let it fall back to his side. Hayley's suddenly startled wince caused his brows to knit together in concern.

Rubbing the side of her rounded stomach, Hayley rolled her eyes and smiled, "Guess she's awake now too."

Klaus' smirk blossomed, and his gaze fell to her burgeoning bump with the faintest traces of awe shining in his eyes.

Licking her lips, Hayley lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, "You want to feel her?"

It seemed that was the single most terrifying thing she could have said to the hybrid, and he appeared momentarily stunned. Klaus' expression was unreadable as he mulled over her proposition, his eyes settling on anything but her. Yet when he finally turned his gaze upon her, a small, yet genuine smile was tugging at his lips.

"I should like that very much."

Hayley felt an inexplicable blush flash across her cheeks as she slowly reached for his hand and settled it over the curve of her stomach. She hoped that their daughter would not make this situation any more uncomfortable and, as if on cue, a series of short, sharp kicks fluttered up from beneath her skin.

Klaus appeared startled, although he hid it well, the softest of grins curving his lips upwards at the corners. He withdrew his hand as the baby seemed to settle after a few seconds, before straightening himself up and peering at Hayley in the dim light.

"Get some rest," he commanded, although his tone was not unkind, "I am sure you are in need of it after the day's events."

Hayley nodded, somewhat disappointed when Klaus seized his paintbrush once again and turned back to the mural. He began working at a patch of grass, his brush stroking the plaster almost tenderly. It appeared that Hayley had been dismissed, and she mumbled a quiet goodnight that Klaus responded to with a murmur before she shuffled back out of the bedroom, and made her way back to her own.

As she padded down the corridor, pulling her robe up around her shoulders, Hayley wondered silently if this was how it was always to be with Klaus; tentative baby steps forward, only to have the proverbial door slammed in her face the instant she felt they were making some headway. They would soon have a child to consider, and alongside the supernatural issues that plagued them on a daily basis, were about to enter into a whole new and terrifying world of problems involving diaper rash, formula brands, and teething remedies. Hayley was seriously beginning to worry that they would find themselves falling short as parents if the most they could manage was a few civilly exchanged sentences before Klaus closed her down once again. There seemed little rhyme or reason behind his changeable moods, and all Hayley could do was sit tight and hold out some small hope that their daughter may be the one capable of worming her way into his cold heart.

Letting out a sigh, Hayley sank back into her bed, groaning in pleasure as she felt the mattress mould around her body. She draped the duvet loosely over herself, extracting one leg in an attempt to regulate her own body temperature, and closed her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

There she lay until dawn broke, still awake, still exhausted, and still battling the image of a sweet, young girl being brutalised before her eyes.

**x-x-x**

Sophie had long passed the point where the Tequila still tasted good, and was now simply knocking back the bottle in the hopes that she could potentially kill herself with alcoholic poisoning before the night was truly through. She had failed, (to state the obvious), and her beautiful niece was still entombed in the family crypt; cold, alone, and very much dead.

A group of students at a nearby table let out simultaneously raucous laughs, and Sophie glared over at them, angered by the life her niece would now apparently be denied.

Slumping over the bar, Sophie held her head in her hands and closed her eyes, sensing a headache already preparing to descend on her as her temples began to throb. But reality was a master Sophie was in no mood to entertain, and so she reached for the bottle and the shot glass and began a steady, if not clumsy refill and drink process.

Tilting the bottle for a third successive time, she paused as she felt a body draw up close behind her.

She sucked in a breath, rolling her eyes as a vague smile lifted the corners of her frown.

"Drowning your sorrows, huh?"

Sophie spun on her heels, swaying unsteadily as she glared in Marcel's direction.

His usually arrogant quirk of the lips was absent, and his expression betrayed his obvious sadness at the day's events. Even so, Sophie's anger was now firmly aimed in his direction.

"Get out," she snarled, feeling an intense rage building in her chest as she stood toe to toe with the man who had stood in the way of her niece's resurrection. If Marcel had not kept Davina hidden from her people for so long, they could have potentially found a way to make the ritual work. But instead, her niece and the other young girls were now lost to them forever. Obviously Marcel had cared for the young witch in his protection, and it brought a perverse sense of happiness knowing that ultimately, she too had perished.

Marcel leaned in close, his breath ghosting across Sophie's earlobe as he growled, "Last time I checked, it's a free city… thanks to me and mine."

Sophie's lip curled upwards in a snarl of pure rage that was drowned out by another peel of laughter from the college group in the corner. Unconcerned by the witch's venom, Marcel pulled a stool closer and leaned against the bar.

He held up one finger to beckon the bartender, shooting a brief glance over his shoulder at Sophie, who was trembling as a consequence of her own rage. Marcel could see the tears lining the brims of her eyes, and he felt a pang of sympathy assail him as he noted the way she gnawed on her bottom lip with her front teeth to keep it from wobbling. She looked utterly broken, and broken was an emotion that Marcel was all too familiar with. He could understand it, because he had lived and breathed it, and he found that seeing Sophie suffer through such a state brought him less pleasure than he would have first assumed it could.

"Drink?" he finally demanded, his tone no less frosty even though he had extended the hand of friendship, albeit temporarily.

Sophie shot him a surprised glance, seeming taken aback by the offer. After a moment of silent contemplation, she slumped her shoulders and moved back towards the bar where she had abandoned her empty glass. The bartender eventually moved down towards them and, recognising Marcel, seized a bottle of Scotch from beneath the bar along with two glasses. He poured and deposited the drinks in a fluid serious of movements, before scooting them across the counter to the vampire and then moving on to attend the next customer.

Marcel settled onto his stool and raised his glass, sloshing the amber liquid around the rim but refraining from taking a drink. He had ripped open several throats on the way over to the French quarter, just because he could. He had not swallowed a single sip from the victims, and simply let the blood go to waste instead as a way of almost flipping the bird to the universe. The killings had not made him feel any better, and so Marcel had resolved to turn to alcohol, his old familiar comfort and friend.

"It was never meant to turn out like this," Sophie mumbled, finally finding herself unable to bear the silence any longer. With all her family now dead, she was in for a lifetime of silence.

Marcel simply cast a short glance at her before he threw back his head and downed another shot of alcohol. Refilling the glass, he stared down at his reluctant drinking partner and smiled slightly as a host of more pleasurable images flooded his mind. He remembered the feel of slick skin upon skin, and the way she moaned when he nipped playfully at her breasts. Shaking his head to dispel the unbidden images, Marcel straightened up.

"Yeah, well get used to it," he said ruefully, rubbing his hand over the back of his head.

Sophie eyed him curiously, wondering whether to venture further with her question given Marcel's apparent loyalties.

"You mean, because of 'them'?" she implied rather than queried.

Marcel smirked, shrugging as he poured them both another drink and licked the excess liquor from his thumb.

"You think it's been party time for me lately?" he demanded with a dry chuckle. "Klaus comes swaggering back in here, takes everything I spent the last two centuries building, and folks just expect me to be cool with that. Doesn't sit right. Everything was fine before they came along."

Sophie accepted the drink and wiped her hand clumsily over her mouth as the alcohol dulled her motor senses even further.

"But..." her cheeks blushed and she rolled her eyes discretely at her own ridiculousness, "you and Rebekah. You're..."

"Complicated," Marcel finished. Leaning his elbows on the bar, he turned to her and appeared to study her intently, "Just like you and me."

Sophie snorted, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle to refill her own empty glass, "We're not that complicated."

"We're not?" Marcel inquired, although his tone was guarded, and gave very little away.

"I think you're an asshole, you think I'm a bitch," Sophie slurred, gasping as she finished yet another round and her stomach lurched in protest, threatening to spill its limited contents onto the floor.

"But the sex was great," Marcel countered, matching Sophie drink for drink and quickly pouring another for them both. It was evident that soon they would require a second bottle, and Sophie sincerely hoped Marcel was intent on paying because she had run out of money three tumblers ago.

"The sex was okay," she corrected, wincing and pressing a hand to her forehead as the room spun and tilted. When her vision cleared somewhat, Sophie rested the same palm against the top of the bar in a bid to steady herself.

"Phew…" Marcel whistled, gazing at the witch through thick lashes, "I'm nearly two hundred years old… I've been a slave, starved, beaten… been on the bottom of the pile more times than I care to count… but you can still bruise my ego, Sophie Devereaux."

Sophie arched an eyebrow and shrugged, suddenly clambering to her feet and hoisting the bottle in the air to catch the bartender's eye. However, it was a nearby table of men that her drunken behaviour appeared to attract, and as she placed her fingers in her mouth and whistled to catch the errant bar tender's attention, one of the guys seized the initiative and wandered up to her.

"Easy there, sweetheart, don't want to fall on that pretty little ass of yours," he crooned, winking as his hand suddenly landed on her rear and he gave it a firm squeeze.

Sophie stumbled back, her head whipping round in fury as she pushed him hard, "Hey, jackass, keep your hands to yourself."

Marcel simply leant back on the bar stool and watched the scene unfold with interest, ready to intervene only if necessary.

The man chuckled, sweeping her body slowly and thoroughly with his eyes, and a wolfish smile fell into place, "You're drunk, miss. Why don't you let me take you home..."

"Why don't you back off?!" she snarled, her eyes blazing. Marcel frowned as a thin trickle of blood oozed from the man's left nostril, seemingly unnoticed. A moment later, and the guy suddenly clutched at his face as a torrent of blood began to pour from his uninjured nose. It splattered the front of his white t-shirt and, horrified, he began attempting to tilt his own head backwards.

Sophie swallowed hard, slamming the empty bottle down on the bar as the man made his way hastily to the men's room to deal with the blood flow.

Marcel eyed the witch curiously and Sophie avoided his gaze, uncomfortable under the weight of it.

Standing from his stool, Marcel stroked his fingers up her arm and smirked as she shivered beneath his touch. He loved that about humans; he relished in the honesty of their emotions. Though a vampire's desires were often base and simple in nature, their extended years on the earth made their reactions more guarded. Humans lacked that experience, and even witches still proverbially wore their hearts on their sleeves. Although in recent weeks, making that a gruesome reality was starting to become the calling card of the oldest Mikaelson sibling. Despite Elijah's cool, calm manner and refined sensibilities, ripping out still beating hearts was something of a party trick for the vampire. It was the one character trait that Marcel thought he could get on board with.

"Hey, let me walk you home," Marcel offered, softening his voice and peering at Sophie through those soulful eyes that were impossible to turn down. The witch shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stared at the floor, seemingly at war with herself as she struggled to come to a decision. Finally, her head raised and her shoulders dropped, and Sophie stared back evenly at Marcel, before sliding her arm through the one he proffered to her.

Marcel's smile was immediate, but it failed to reach all the way up to the corners of his eyes, or to coax out his trademark dimples. Sophie's thoughts drifted back to Davina, and she thought that it would be quite some time before anyone saw Marcel smile in the same way again.

Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Sophie began to tug Marcel towards the door, making it clear that she had grown tired of the bar and the drunks it housed. Willingly, Marcel followed, allowing Sophie to guide him through tables and crowds. The witch pushed the exit open with her shoulder and near tumbled out into the night air, sucking in deep breathes to bring some clarity to her muddled thoughts. Marcel waited patiently, his gaze ticking to the street corner, where several police cars sped by, no doubt on their way to retrieve one of the corpses he had left littering the quarter in his rage.

Tugging on Sophie's arm a little to prompt her into action, Marcel ducked his head and moved on through the darkness, the petite witch at his side. Together, they strode through the quarter, the eyes of at least a dozen carefully concealed vampires upon them. None of them were brave enough to challenge the uncharacteristic couple. Just to be certain, Marcel made a point of meeting the eyes of any vampire they stumbled across, and Sophie continued to bob along at his elbow, unsteady and oblivious.

The couple strolled and periodically stumbled through the streets until they reached the relative seclusion of Sophie's door.

Marcel stepped back and dug his hands in his pockets as the witch somewhat comically tried to jam her key in the lock with a violently shaking hand.

"Allow me," Marcel chuckled good-naturedly and placed his hand firmly over hers. Sophie's breath caught in her chest and she tried desperately to formulate the thousand and one reasons why she shouldn't do what her libido was about to propose.

Marcel pushed the door of her apartment open, but the woman remained standing on the threshold, as if in deep contemplation.

Reaching out toward him as if on impulse, Sophie threw her arms around the vampire's neck and melded her bourbon stained lips to his.

Marcel halted her advances even as his hands wandered to rest on her hips, and he smiled that knee-weakening smile and cocked his head.

"You sure about this, Soph?"

Sophie shook her head, "No. But I guess it'll give me something else to regret in the morning aside from a hangover and a bunch of dead witches."

She captured his reply with a searing kiss, and the couple finally stepped into the apartment and away from prying eyes.

Hurriedly tugging Marcel's shirt up and over his head, Sophie paused only for a moment, an uncomfortable thought plaguing her.

"What about Rebekah?" she rasped, her eyes slamming shut as Marcel's lips wandered down the curve of her neck. He licked at her skin with the tip of his tongue, and she felt her entire body judder in response.

With a reassuring grin and only fleeting thoughts of the blonde vampire in question, Marcel pushed the witch against the nearest wall and lifted her up into his arms.

"What about her?!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

There was very little of late that Elijah Mikaelson had seen that had managed to surprise him. However, the sight of his brother Niklaus, relaxing in the parlour with a cup of tea and a smile that hinted at actual happiness as opposed to villainy of some sort, definitely neared the top of the list.

For several moments, Elijah stood on the threshold of the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back as he regarded his brother. Klaus failed to move, save for to raise his teacup slowly and carefully to his lips before taking a long sip. Casting his eyes briefly to the floor, Elijah smiled, deciding that his own curiosity in this case was too large a beast to ignore. He cleared his throat as he stepped into the room, and Klaus shot him a quick glance, clearly having failed to register his presence. Elijah almost expected his little brother's manner to shift now that he knew that he had company again, but far from the sneer and tensely coiled muscles that Elijah expected, Klaus stared almost brightly at his brother.

"Good morning, Elijah," Klaus declared, and Elijah almost stumbled in surprise as he stepped further inside. In the corner, the maid cleaned the ceilings with a large feather duster. She hummed softly to herself as she worked from her position on the step ladder she had mounted, and Elijah was surprised to find Klaus tolerating the tuneless din.

"Brother," Elijah responded in greeting, shaking his head as Klaus gestured with one finger to the pot of tea resting on the table before them. "You seem almost cheerful. Do I trust you are currently plotting your next diabolical scheme, or did the housekeeper simply remember to starch your underpants?"

Klaus merely smiled and turned the page of the book he had resting in his lap, "It's a beautiful morning, brother. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and here we are, ruling once more over this kingdom of excess and debauchery. What is there to be melancholy about?"

Elijah peered over at his sibling in a state of obvious confusion, but he decided to seize the opportunity of Klaus' rare good mood for some long overdue brotherly chit-chat. He took a seat on the chair opposite and crossed his legs, his hands folded in his lap.

"I fear our sister is plotting to spend insidious amounts of money this afternoon," Elijah stated with a smile. His vampire senses clearly picked out the slightly awkward chatter of Rebekah and their new werewolf counterpart as the two women made their way down the vast staircase side by side.

Klaus glanced up from the tome he had been perusing, and smiled at the sound of heels pounding the staircase.

"If there's one thing I have learned over the centuries, brother, that is to keep the women folk happy. If household harmony means maxing out the Mikaelson credit cards, so be it," Klaus' smile widened, unbeknownst to the vampire, "besides, I hear our dear sister is taking Hayley to select items for the nursery, thereby ensuring her position as favourite aunt."

Elijah laughed and the two men shared an unusually comfortable silence, before Klaus suddenly turned toward the maid with an expression that conveyed sudden irritation.

"Perhaps we might have more of Billie Holiday and a little less of Beyonce?" he suggested pointedly, surprised to find that even the old woman's out of tune singing could not dampen his spirits. Immediately, the maid complied with her instruction, whether down to her obvious state of compulsion or simply her reluctance to irritate the hybrid, Elijah had no idea.

Finally, the sound of approaching heels grew louder, heralding the arrival of Rebekah and Hayley at the parlour doorway. Whilst the former entered the room with a breezy smile and an air of typical arrogance, the latter hung back in the hallway, one hand gripping the door jamb as though she was physically unable to enter. Rebekah wasted no time in seizing a teacup and filling it near to the brim from the china pot resting at Klaus' elbow, whilst Hayley kept her eyes downcast to the floor.

"Well, come on, wolf girl, it's every woman for herself in this house," Rebekah cajoled, eyeing Hayley with obvious curiosity as the woman continued to hover in uncertainty at the doorway. Finally, with a little sigh and a toss of her brown mane, Hayley shuffled forward, and Klaus' lips quirked just a fraction higher.

"Did you sleep well, Hayley?" Elijah inquired as he politely set about fixing the werewolf a cup of tea, despite the fact that Klaus knew her to be more of a coffee drinker. He also strongly suspected that she would sip at the beverage for several minutes out of politeness before abandoning it.

"I… uh…" Hayley faltered, folding her arms across her chest and frowning slightly as she glanced at Elijah, "I guess."

Klaus smiled, and Rebekah intercepted it with evident surprise, her eyebrow arched as she glanced between the pair with an expression of amusement. But she wisely chose to remain silent, and busied herself with sipping her tea and buttering a freshly baked scone with enthusiasm.

"We were gonna go shopping," Hayley began, though nobody was quite sure who she was addressing, "I guess I finally need maternity clothes, pretty much nothing in my closet fits anymore…"

Klaus shrugged, his gaze remaining fixed to the yellowed pages, "Buy what you need. I'm sure Rebekah can steer you away from florals and kaftans in favour of more fashionable attire. Money is no object."

"Your faith in my fashion sense is touching, Nik," Rebekah said with a smile. She bit delicately into the scone before wiping crumbs from the corner of her lips with a flourish.

"Well, you had to develop some degree of sense, dear sister," Klaus conceded, yet his smile was not unkind, and Rebekah merely deflected his barb with a slurp of her tea.

From the corner of his eye, Klaus watched in faint amusement as Hayley slid her teacup inconspicuously onto an end table by her side, before stepping in front of it to hide it from view.

"I trust that I need not appoint Diego to guard duty given your formidable presence, Bekah?" Klaus inquired, only half in jest. He peered over the top of his book at his sister, who pursed her lips.

"Ugh, no," Rebekah objected with a frown that conveyed her distaste, "that boy's surliness is eclipsed only by the height of his hair."

Elijah grinned and Klaus let out an audible chuckle. Hayley, however, appeared less than amused, planting both hands on her hips as she glared at the vampires.

"I don't need an entourage," she stated, her tone as defiant as the incline of her chin, "I'm going to pick out bottles and burp cloths, not to wage a supernatural war in the French quarter."

"With you, little wolf, one can never be quite sure," Klaus replied without missing a beat, his crystalline eyes trained on the words on the page as opposed to the near murderous expression spread across Hayley's features.

Clearing his throat to secure her attention, Klaus mustered his most appeasing smile, "I simply wish to keep you and _our daughter_ safe."

His words seemed to have the desired effect, and Hayley's fury abated temporarily.

Closing the book with a resounding slam, Klaus stood up and strolled purposefully out of the room, not before pausing at Hayley's side. He leaned into the wolf's side, his voice dropping to a purr as he stated, "The mural is completed. If you would like to see it later, I should very much like your opinion. Perhaps even your approval."

Hayley blinked, a half smile appearing on her face as she tried unsuccessfully to read the look in his eyes, "Yeah… okay."

Klaus bowed his head and held her gaze until each felt a pang of discomfort at their lingering proximity and the unprecedented feelings it stirred. Hayley was the first to eventually duck her gaze, and she weakly mumbled something about finding her purse in explanation as she turned on her heel and fled the room. Klaus' lips curved into a broad grin, and he strolled out into the hall with the book tucked forgotten under his arm and his arrogant swagger very much evident.

Rebekah folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair, taking stock of the decidedly strange vibes she had detected passing between the expectant parents.

"Bloody hell," she grumbled, poe faced as she mulled over the thousand and one ways the potential complication could make her life even more infuriatingly tedious.

Elijah clasped his hands together and rested his chin on his fingers, seemingly lost in thought. He glanced up only at the sound of Rebekah's boot heels once again assaulting the floorboards. Softly, he admitted to nobody in particular, "I suppose this might perhaps complicate things."

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, Rebekah tutted in displeasure and marched out of the room, muttering under her breath as she went, "It's like Days of our sodding Lives."

With a thin but highly amused smile, Elijah turned his attention to the morning paper and the cup of steaming Earl Grey at his fingertips, determined to push all thoughts of hybrids and pregnant werewolves out of his mind until at least noon.

**x-x-x**

An unfamiliar combination of exhaustion and alcohol drenched slumber had kept Marcel at Sophie's apartment far longer than he had intended. Marcel was really more of a fan of one night stands when he could make himself scarce long before his conquest had stirred, let alone risen, showered, and put on a pot of coffee as Sophie seemed to have. A glance at the alarm clock informed the vampire that it was already after eight, and he knew that he had a limited amount of time before his absence at the compound was noted, then subsequently investigated.

Marcel let out a low groan as he untangled his naked body from the mess of sheets, some of which he noted were blood stained. In the back of his mind, a memory stirred of he and Sophie, bodies writing, even as he hungrily sank his fangs into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Her pleasured moans echoed fresh and loud in his ears, and Marcel sat up straighter in a bid to dispel them. Sophie Deveraux was a mistake he had long ago vowed never to make again, and yet here he was, flogging that same dead horse so it seemed.

Marcel made little noise as he gathered up his pants and slipped them on, not bothering about his boxers, which were lost somewhere in the chaotic mess of Sophie's bedroom. However, just as he was pulling his t shirt over his head, the witch appeared in the bedroom doorway to thrust a mug of unwanted black coffee into his hands. Without a word, Marcel accepted the cup and sipped, already mentally berating himself for being drawn into the witch's hospitality.

"I should… you know…" Marcel stated, placing the mug on the nearest bookshelf and hooking one thumb in the direction of the door.

"Careful, you might bruise a girl's fragile ego," Sophie warned, shaking her head with a bitter smile at Marcel's unmasked eagerness to leave.

"C'mon, Soph," Marcel murmured, his eyes flitting unbidden to the bed before they ticked back to the witch's face, "last night was…"

"A welcome chance to forget," Sophie finished pointedly, shaking her head as she added, "don't flatter yourself, Marcel. It's not like I thought this was the beginning of some epic romance."

Marcel arched an eyebrow and smiled wryly, soothed enough by her assurances to pick up his mug again and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

An uneasy silence descended, but nonetheless Sophie remained standing in the doorway of the bedroom, scuffing her bare foot across the floorboards. Marcel was unsure if her position was ultimately to secure herself an exit, or alternatively to block his. Either way, they were both doing all in their power to avoid eye contact until Sophie's voice broke the stalemate.

"I know a way to bring Davina back," she suddenly blurted, watching Marcel closely for a reaction.

Marcel swallowed the sweet, bitter coffee along with the bad taste her words had left in his mouth. He set down the mug again and growled insistently, "Leave it alone, Sophie. You're in way over your head."

Sophie shook her head emphatically and walked over to him, her own half empty mug clutched between her hands, "I can do it, Marcel … I swear to you... I just know it."

Marcel licked his lips and shook his head as he practically pushed past her, unwilling to listen to such claims when Sophie had ultimately been the one to end Davina's life. The witch had been little more than a child; a child Marcel had sworn to protect, and her death was a burden of guilt that he knew he would carry with him indefinitely. Sophie's mastery of her powers was limited in comparison to the other women in her community who had embraced their gifts from an early age, and without the assistance of the elders, her magical prowess made her qualified for little more than cheap party tricks.

"I gotta get out of here before Klaus starts asking questions," Marcel said dismissively as he strolled out of the room. Sophie turned on her bare heels, using the memento of her feet on the wooden floorboards to close the distance between her and Marcel quicker. She let her own mug clatter to the floor, unconcerned apparently by the luke warm coffee that pooled on the ground and splashed up her legs.

She grabbed hold of the vampire's bicep, her thumb pad smoothing over his skin as she peered up into his eyes. Her chin trembled, and Sophie sniffed in a bid to thwart the tears she felt brimming on her lashes. She had cried enough lately, and now was the time for action, not weakness.

"I swear to you, Marcel," she hissed, her eyes flashing in the daylight with her conviction, "I can bring those girls back. Every last one of them. But I can't do it alone."

Several seconds of silence elapsed, the vampire and witch staring each other down. Marcel could hear Sophie's heart pounding in her chest, and he cocked his head quizzically at the woman as he regarded her.

"And what if you're wrong," Marcel demanded, lowering his head so that his nose was mere centrimetres away from Sophie's face. His coffee scented breath ghosted across her cheek, but Sophie stared evenly back up at the vampire as he concluded, "What then, huh, Sophie?"

"Then…" Sophie said, her tone soft but undeniably dangerous, "I will make them pay."

"Them?" queried Marcel, watching the witch intently as she licked her lips and took a step backwards in retreat, before wrapping her own arms around her body. "Who's 'them', exactly?"

Sophie stared up at him defiantly, her nostrils flaring as she accused with venom, "You know who I mean."

Marcel rubbed the back of his neck as he chuckled at the ill-advised yet admirable rebellion the young witch was suggesting.

"Sophie, look… they're not a family to mess with, okay? Believe me, I know, and people who've tried have got a real bad habit of winding up dismembered. You plan on taking out the Originals, you need to be packing some serious fire power… and we both know that's out of your league."

Sophie's jaw set, and Marcel found himself transfixed as a strange stillness settled upon the room. The air seemed to grow warmer and more difficult to breathe, and Marcel felt beads of sweat springing up on his forehead. The witch's eyes fluttered closed, and when they opened seconds later, Marcel was surprised to find jet black orbs staring back at him. As her low, whispered chants began to reverberate in his eardrums, Marcel's body was wracked by an involuntary shudder. The Latin tripped off Sophie's tongue with ease, and the floorboards began to shake whilst photograph frames toppled from the dresser, the glass shattering upon impact with the ground.

"Sophie…" Marcel began, panic suddenly setting in as he wondered just how far around the quarter the tremors may be felt. "Enough. You got my attention."

"Oh… I've only just started," Sophie promised dangerously. No sooner than the words had left her mouth than a ring of flames ignited on the floor around her. Marcel stared in a combination of awe and horror as the fire crackled around the witch at waist height, but appeared to leave the floor below it undamaged.

Finally, after half a minute had elapsed, and Sophie could be certain that she had made her point, the flames began to recede until they had died away to smoldering piles of ash.

"What…" Marcel began, shaking his head in evident confusion at the display of uncharacteristic power he had just witnessed.

"Now do you believe me?" Sophie pressed, stepping forwards and seizing Marcel's cold hand in her own. Her eyes searched his features, and she felt her stomach dip with the fear that he may refuse her regardless.

Marcel remained motionless, staring into space as he processed the new information and the possibilities it immediately presented him with. Having an all-powerful witch as an ally against the Original family could only be considered a good thing. Better yet, it was a turn of events that Klaus would not see coming in the wake of Davina's death; something that the centuries old hybrid had been all too eager to watch. There was a part of Marcel that highly suspected Klaus had known the Harvest ritual would fail, but he hardly supposed the hybrid would bring himself to care about one little girl when faced with the destruction of his beloved city.

There was nothing that Marcel wanted more than Davina Claire alive and well again, but he was uncertain that any allegiance with Sophie could promise him as much. In the long run, it all came down to just how much faith Marcel was willing to invest in the witch, and just how much of a risk he would take by potentially standing against his oldest friend and ally. There were many benefits to be reaped as Klaus Mikaelson's right hand man, and undoubtedly there was even more to be lost by those foolish enough to stand against the thousand year old creature. Marcel had been there before, both arrogant and stupid enough to work against Klaus, saved time and again only by his maker's unwavering affection for him. However, Marcel had never before done so with such a promising ace up his proverbial sleeve. With very little left to be stripped away from him now, the temptation to ruin the man who had invaded his sand box was proving just too great.

The seconds ticked by, until slowly a strange new light came to Marcel's eyes. Glancing down at Sophie, his features aglow with machiavellian optimism, the vampire struggled to talk through the smile rapidly overtaking the usually subtle quirk of his lips.

"Sophie Deveraux, I think you and I got a lot to talk about."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

As soon as the black Range Rover pulled through the iron gates of the compound, it became apparent to Elijah as to why Rebekah had insisted against taking her own car on the morning's expedition. He highly doubted that his sister's Porsche would have been able to accommodate the mountain of boxes and bags currently stacked up in the back of Klaus' car, let alone those piled across the lap of the heavily pregnant werewolf in the passenger seat.

Elijah managed to contain his thoroughly amused smile as, at the sound of the vehicle's brakes being gently administered, Klaus rushed out onto the driveway. The hybrid's eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight of the 'few essentials' that Rebekah had promised she was purchasing.

Klaus let out a choked squeak, and Elijah struggled to thwart the upward quirk of his own treacherous lips. Instead, he moved forwards and pulled open the passenger side door, spilling a collection of expensively monogrammed bags onto the ground, but managing to partially extract Hayley.

"I see you had a fruitful morning, ladies," Elijah commented as he helped Hayley out of the car, sending more bags flying across the concrete. Rebekah's brow furrowed in disapproval and she began scooping up her spoils after shooting her brother an irritated look.

"The store's delivering the rest tomorrow afternoon," replied Rebekah, rising to her feet and clutching the bags to her chest even as she eyed the mound of goods stuffed into the vehicle before her with a calculating gaze. "Somebody really should bring that lot in and pop it into the nursery. Be a darling, Nik."

"The rest?" Klaus repeated, disbelief colouring his tone and darkening his features, "I thought I was to believe that we were expecting one child, not an entire bloody litter?"

Elijah smiled and ducked his head to address his sibling, as he deadpanned, "Well, children are expensive creatures."

Hayley eyed the two vampires hesitantly, glancing back at the vast array of bags, baby swings, blankets, bassinets, bags of diapers, and various other items that Rebekah had insisted were necessary purchases.

Klaus intercepted her uncertain and somewhat guilty look and offered her his arm, "If there's anything further you require for yourself or the child..."

Hayley laughed softly and took his arm without even considering her actions.

"I think Aunt Rebekah's pretty much got it covered. I don't think the baby'll need anything else until she starts kindergarten," she stroked her free hand over her rounded stomach and shook her head at the blonde vampire's obvious excitement at the impending arrival of her niece.

"Excellent," Klaus stated with a smile, which it was hard to suspect was anything other than genuine.

Rebekah strolled past them and tossed a bag hard at Klaus' chest, her grin intensifying as she listened to his stifled grunt.

"Auntie Bex," she corrected, winking at Hayley before she strode ahead inside the house, leaving Elijah to gather more of their spoils and supervise the day walkers who had filed out of the compound to grudgingly help.

Klaus watched his sister enter the main doorway before he peered into the bag, and as he opened it to retrieve the item inside, Hayley's heart rate picked up considerably. With a frown Klaus pulled the small, white t-shirt from the bag and held it aloft to examine it.

The words 'Daddy's Little Princess' were emblazoned in pale pink cursive across the front, and Klaus stared in awe at the size of the tiny item. He could not decide if this purchase had been meant as a joke, or if his sister had hoped to appeal to his softer side. Either way, his expression did not belay his true feelings on the subject.

"Rebekah picked it out, I..." Hayley began with a roll of her eyes, watching as Klaus returned the item to the bag and simply chuckled before turning to his companion.

"Well, I suppose it's rather fitting. We _are _royalty, little wolf..." he swept his free hand through the air as though gesturing to the compound, and his eyes lifted to the large 'M' carved into the stonework, "and this will be her kingdom."

"If she wants it to be, I guess," Hayley countered immediately, slumping into an ornate metal chair that sat in the centre of the courtyard. The cool breeze ruffled her dark waves, pushing them from the apple of her cheeks, and Klaus watched almost fascinated as the werewolf closed her eyes.

"Why would she wish it to be any other way?" Klaus demanded, surprised to find he was lowering himself into the chair opposite Hayley already. He clasped his hands on the surface of the table and peered at the mother of his child.

Hayley's eyes flashed open and she affixed Klaus with a look that gave little room for argument, or so she hoped.

"I don't know, I guess because power and responsibility don't mean the same to everyone," said Hayley, shrugging her shoulders as she surveyed the courtyard quickly. Diego and a handful of others leaned against a nearby wall, and Hayley bristled in irritation as she realised the likelihood that they were eavesdropping on the conversation. After having spent so much time alone and fending for herself, Hayley valued her privacy above most things. The obvious downside of living in a house surrounded by vampires was that even those moments that were intended to be private were rarely such.

"And what of family?" Klaus finally pressed, his lips set in a thin line that communicated his displeasure with the turn the conversation had taken.

"What about it?" questioned Hayley, beginning to drum her fingernails on the tabletop as she regarded Klaus. The hybrid shifted in his seat, his eyes ticking to Hayley's manicured nails as he watched her tap repeatedly on the glass.

"You don't believe our daughter will want to honour her duties to not only her kingdom, but her family?" Klaus inquired, obviously straining to maintain an even tone as he found the discussion prickling at his patience.

"Maybe... I don't know..." Hayley faltered, her own irritation growing and shining through in the inflection of her voice, "she never asked for any of this. She's not even born yet and already she has people planning out her future? That's not okay."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Hayley," Klaus murmured, placing his hand over her own to cease the incessant tapping of her nails against the table. "It is a burden best shared by those one trusts implicitly."

Hayley scoffed, shaking her head as she stared Klaus down with her unwavering gaze.

"I just don't want to see her pushed into a life that's not for her..." Hayley stated, sniffing as she added quietly with an arch of a brow, "if I'm still around then to see anything at all."

Klaus paused, staring down at his boots as he found himself strangely silenced by Hayley's words. Glancing up to force her to hold his gaze, Klaus adopted his most solemn tone.

"I may not be as charming or... socially adept as my brother. But like Elijah, I always keep my promises. No harm will come to you Hayley, of that you have my word."

She watched him closely as he continued, until the intensity of his gaze forced her to lower her eyes to her lap, "Though the idea seems entirely unpalatable to you at present, you are family now. This is your home."

Hayley shook her head, a wry smile appearing on her face.

"Klaus, you and I can't even be in the same room together without fighting, and if it wasn't for this," she gestured to her growing bump, "I'd be a thousand miles away and we'd have never spoken to each other again."

Klaus offered her a half-shrug, "Well, we're not fighting now, little wolf."

"We're not?" Hayley inquired, genuinely surprised by the revelation.

"We're merely engaging in a spirited discussion," he countered, smiling charmingly as he stood from his seat, signaling the conversation had come to an end, "now, have you eaten?"

Hayley faltered, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to formulate a response. Of late, Klaus seemed to have taken it upon himself to play at least a small part in securing her welfare. Given her complicated history with the hybrid, it was a surprising development to say the least, and one that Hayley accepted with a degree of suspicion still.

"No, there wasn't a whole lot of time for bodily functions penciled in on Rebekah's quest to buy out the mall," Hayley replied, a smirk flirting with her lips as she recalled the absolute glee in Rebekah's eyes as she had trawled the racks of baby related goods.

"Well then, I'll have a word with cook and see that is remedied," Klaus said, backing away from Hayley, a cocky half smile dominating his features, "in the meantime, I have a city to attend to. Do try to behave whilst I'm gone."

Hayley blinked as Klaus disappeared in a blur, Diego and the others following in his wake, and leaving her for once in perfect solitude in the courtyard. With a bemused frown, Hayley realised that the flutter of something she felt in her belly was, for once, not her unborn daughter making her presence known, but instead the faintest stirrings of an emotion resembling regret.

**x-x-x**

Although it was barely mid-afternoon, Rebekah wandered the hallways of the compound with a glass of red wine clutched in one hand, having deemed the beverage thoroughly well earned after her morning's labours.

Taking a sip of the vintage merlot swirling in her glass, the vampire casually strolled down the hallway, eyeing the decor with a pang of sadness as she noted that Marcel had changed very little of the house since the Mikaelson clan had fled. The heavy gold and red drapes were slightly faded, and every now and then Rebekah was sure she could smell the faintest trace of smoke still clinging to the fabric, telling of the city's turbulent history, and her family's downfall.

The furniture was as she remembered, with only modern conveniences such as televisions, phones, and cd players added.

Banishing the melancholy thoughts from her mind, Rebekah paused at a window, toying with whether or not to wile away a few hours torturing the hybrid currently planted in 'the garden', or whether to instead begin crafting the gift she was planning for her baby niece.

Her thoughts flicked briefly between Tyler and the chest of old dresses and clothing stored in her room. She had been surprised to find that Marcel had kept all of her clothes in storage, and she secretly found herself hoping he had been awaiting her return all along.

She had wanted to give the baby a gift that was both personal, and reflective of their heritage. So in-between the menacing day to day duties of an Original, Rebekah had begun work on a patchwork quilt, sewn from dresses and fabrics that had been dear to her.

Rebekah swallowed down another sip of wine and brushed her fingertip across her mouth in an attempt to prevent the merlot staining her full lips.

Pondering her options for only a few moments longer, the vampire downed the contents of her glass and headed back down the hall toward their living quarters. Whilst she knew that sitting squirreled away in her room, sewing like an old maid, was not the most glamorous of hobbies, she was working on the blanket in secret, unwilling to suffer the teasing Klaus would no doubt have bestowed upon her.

Twirling the stem of the glass between her fingers, Rebekah sashayed down the hallway, running the fingertips of one hand along the wall as she went. The aged paper still felt near perfect beneath her skin and, lost in memories, Rebekah rounded the corner a little slower than usual. The sight of Marcel appearing from behind a bookcase stopped the vampire in her tracks, and Rebekah quickly but quietly pressed herself tighter against the wall to watch. Marcel peered out from behind the heavy, oak shelves, before taking a tentative step out into the corridor once he was satisfied the coast was clear. The bookcase had been installed when the compound had been built, and was one of the many secret entrances and exits that her occasionally paranoid brothers had insisted upon incorporating into the plans for their home. Rebekah had hardly cared either way, but she supposed that both Klaus and Elijah had felt the need for such precautions given their constant fear of their father's arrival.

Rebekah frowned as she continued to watch Marcel, who straightened up his t-shirt and proceeded along the hall in the opposite direction as though nothing at all was amiss. Once she was sure that the vampire had covered enough distance that he would not hear her emergence from her impromptu hiding place, Rebekah rounded the corner and trotted to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and pressed her back against the wooden panel, leaning her head against the frame as she mulled over the scene she had just witnessed. The doorway was one that Rebekah seemed to recall led to a concealed staircase, which in turn would take its descendants to a series of tunnels below ground. Although she had never used that particular passage herself, Rebekah was near certain that it would eventually yield an exit somewhere near to the French quarter.

Marcel had clearly still been wearing the clothing he had been the night before, hinting that he had not returned to the compound when the rest of the group had left the cemetery. On one hand, Rebekah could hardly blame him, since everywhere he looked he would likely find reminders of Davina. However, she could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that what she had witnessed could perhaps be an indication of something more than a man lost in the throes of grief.

Rebekah felt a pang of jealousy strike at her heart which she quickly tried to dismiss, but before her mood had a chance to lift, the glass in her hand shattered with the sheer force of her grip.

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest, her heels crunching the shards of glass as she began to make her way toward the main house.

Marcel was up to something, and Rebekah intended to find out what. With the impending arrival of the youngest Mikaelson only months away, she felt it pertinent to know exactly who was up to what in her city. There was so much more at stake this time than her own broken heart, and she would never allow anything bad to befall the baby Hayley carried.

Resolving to keep a closer eye on her paramour, and with all thoughts of her gift now pushed temporarily aside, Rebekah wandered out of her room. She strolled through the house, her nostrils twitching due to the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen that was just too good to resist. Though vampires had little need to partake in human food or drink, they enjoyed the indulgence, and none more so than Rebekah.

"What's this then?" she inquired as she sauntered into the kitchen. Hayley was seated at a tall bar stool, and was taking a healthy bite of a massively over-stacked burger.

Hayley chewed a little faster and swallowed her food, her eyes drifting upwards at the heavenly taste of her lunch.

"Cheeseburgers with extra pickles, relish, and bacon. They're so good," she enthused, reaching for a fry and dunking it in the pot of relish beside her, before popping it in her mouth with obvious enthusiasm.

Spying the large platter of burgers that the cook had evidently been coerced into preparing, Rebekah sat down on the stool beside her friend and nodded toward the food, "Mind if I join you?"

It seemed even vampires sought the remedy to heartbreak in junk food.

Hayley grinned and shook her head, and as each woman picked up a burger, they gently knocked them together as though clinking glasses. Indeed, if the wolf played her cards right, Rebekah might even be coerced into making an ice cream run; all, of course, in the name of familial love.

**x-x-x **

Later that evening, when the sun had dipped below the New Orleans skyline to be replaced by the luminous crescent moon, Hayley once again stole from her bedroom. This time, she had listened carefully and attentively until she was certain that she would be utterly alone in her midnight jaunt. She arrived at the designated nursery without event, and paused only a few seconds at the doorway to check the hall before she slipped inside the darkened room.

The drapes hung open at the window, and the moonlight streamed into the nursery as though it were somehow filtered directly. Hayley crept closer to the mural that was the dominant focus of the room even in the poor light. Gingerly, her palm inched forwards and she rested it gently against the beautiful artwork that had so thoroughly captured her attention. The minutes passed uncounted as the werewolf simply stared at every inch of the wall, as though she could commit each brushstroke to memory from sheer will alone.

Finally, when the cramp in her legs became too much to bear, and the dull ache in the bottom of her back just too insistent to ignore, Hayley resolved to admit defeat, and padded from the room back to her waiting bed.

As she lay among the sheets, listening to the faint sounds of laughter emanating from a corner of the compound, Hayley closed her eyes and ran over the mural in her mind. She knew from experience that there was always room for Klaus to add to his paintings, as he so often did on canvas, and she found herself wondering as to what other images may work their way upon the plaster in time. Klaus' inspirations were often a mystery to even those closest to him, although Hayley was certain that she could not classify herself as such.

Despite her long-held misgivings about Klaus and their less than harmonious history together, she found herself briefly hoping she one day might be proved wrong.

All things considered, it had been a strangely good day for the werewolf; indulging in some retail therapy and bonding with Rebekah had been a welcome dose of light relief, and she had begun to develop a true sisterhood with the Original vampire, who seemed to revel in having another woman in the Mikaelson household.

Yet it had been her interactions with Klaus that had surprised her the most, and the attentive, almost caring manner with which he now seemed to be watching over her was causing Hayley to question many of her previous assumptions about the hybrid.

Sighing into the darkness, Hayley batted at the pillow beneath her head and rolled over, her hand instantly falling to cradle the peak of her stomach.

"Goodnight little one," she whispered, closing her eyes as a deep yet not uncomfortable weariness settled upon her.

For the first time in a long time, Hayley dared to hope that she belonged, and moments later she fell asleep to dream of things she had long ago dismissed as impossible.


End file.
